


Broken Vows

by littlelardnar



Category: Don Giovanni - Mozart/Da Ponte
Genre: Cheating, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Infant Death, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nuns, Trans Female Character, and also technically on Jesus??, but it's on Ottavio so it's cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-02-29 01:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelardnar/pseuds/littlelardnar
Summary: Ten years after the events of the opera, Elvira encounters some old friends.





	1. Chapter 1

A vicious pounding at the gates. Elvira closed her prayer book and got to her feet.

“Sisters? Reverend Mother?”

It was a man’s voice, low and anxious. Elvira hurried to the gates. She arrived in time to greet the Reverend Mother, who pulled open the little window in the door to peer through. The Reverend Mother was a very small woman, and she had to squint up through the darkness at whoever stood on the other side.

“What can we do for you, my son?” the Reverend Mother asked in her calm, cool voice-- a voice that Elvira tried to mimic when speaking to the initiates in her care. She found it so difficult to empty herself of any tone or inflection. She had been a vibrant woman-- was still.

“My mistress--” the man panted, “my mistress-- she went into labor-- too early.”

The Reverend Mother looked meaningfully at Elvira, who nodded, swallowing. She went and got the great iron key.

They opened the gate. The man humbly kept his head down, but he wrung his hands with fear.

“Sister Francesco, go to their aid,” the Reverend Mother commanded.

“Yes, Reverend Mother. At once,” Elvira said.

She followed the servant to the carriage, and they sped off. It had been so long since she had ridden in one of these, like a lady. The sisters walked wherever they were needed in this little village. But this was a matter of urgency.

They arrived at the palace, across the river from the convent. It was in a state of regal disrepair, pieces having fallen here and there and never replaced. Such palaces always made Elvira uneasy. She wondered what kind of husband would choose this as a place for his child to be raised. Though-- she crossed herself-- it was not right to judge them before they had met. Or after, really. This, she often forgot.

The servant helped her down from the carriage. In the lamplight, his face looked almost familiar. But all servants had looked the same to her, in that other life. She felt guilty, and started to ask him his name, but he was already babbling on in a panic--

“She’s upstairs, come quickly! She-- the baby-- they might die!”

She let him guide her into the palace and up the great stone stairway. She shivered at the dull solemnity of this place. Had she gotten so accustomed, in these ten years, to the low convent ceilings? The huts of the peasants she ministered to? It was like returning to a dream.

But she had no time for such musings. She was a nurse, not a philosopher. She hurried into the room the servant pointed out to her, his whole body shaking-- odd, how something entirely natural to her could terrify men so!-- and stopped when she saw the woman, soaked in sweat, blood pouring from her as a terrified little maid dabbed at her forehead with a wet rag.

“Donna Anna!” Elvira gasped. The woman opened her eyes weakly. No place for an awkward reunion. But how did she get here? Never mind that. She went to the bed, and put her hand between the woman’s legs. Donna Anna shrieked. “Hush now,” Sister Francesco scolded. “I will see if the babe lives.”

It did not. Born too soon, there was not enough time for it to build up its hard shell against the world. But, with Elvira’s aid, Donna Anna did live. She spent that long night bleeding and screaming while the poor maid cowered in the corner of the room, but, thank God, she lived.

_She has had the benefit of a life of good food and rest_ , Elvira thought as she washed her hands. She had known too many peasant girls-- hardly women-- whose fragile bodies tore themselves apart to deliver new life into God’s world.

Elvira was taken to a guest room to sleep, which she refused. “I will sleep in the servants’ quarters,” she said. “It is closer to the lady, if she needs me.”

“Of course, of course,” the servant said. “Thank you-- we all cannot thank you enough. You have saved her!”

“God saves,” Elvira said in the stern voice she used to admonish initiates. Then, seeing him wilt a little, she smiled. “But it is my blessed duty to help as I can.”

He nodded, and took her to the hidden room next to Donna Anna’s, where she could hear the mistress’s sounds of troubled sleep.

  


She awoke to the bell beside her door ringing. She stood, straightened her rumbled habit, and entered Donna Anna’s room.

“Ah-- it is you,” Donna Anna said. Her eyes were dull with pain and loss. “I thought it was a dream. That all seemed so long ago….”

“It does,” Elvira agreed.

“I suppose you have a different name, now?”

“Yes. Francesco.”

Donna Anna laughed, then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, I just-- I didn’t expect a man’s name.”

Elvira smiled. “I felt touched by San Francesco’s teachings when I was a novice.”

“I see.” Donna Anna shifted uncomfortably, as people do when a nun talks of religious matters. “Thank you--” she met Elvira’s eyes again-- “for saving me.”

“It is my blessed duty,” Elvira said.

“Will you sit with me awhile?”

“Of course.”

There was a silence, broken by the deep tick-tock of the clock in the hall.

“I married Ottavio, as you can see,” Donna Anna said at last.

“Yes.”

Another silence.

Elvira decided to press her. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Donna Anna said. She shifted her weight, and winced. “But….”

“But?”

“No, I shouldn’t-- I mean, he’s--” she blushed. “I don’t know. He’s kind.”

“Kind men are rare.”

“Yes, of course. I’m very lucky.” Her hand moved unconsciously to her stomach. “We have children. Maria, Viviana, and Grazia. He wanted a son, as men do. This is the second try. Both times--” she stopped, biting her lip. After a moment, she took a deep breath. “I cannot do this again,” she said.

Elvira took her hand. “You need time to mourn.”

“No,” Donna Anna shook her head vehemently. “I am done with children, Sister. I cannot do this again.”

Elvira rose. “I will speak with him.”

“Wait,” Donna Anna said. She pulled one of the colorful strings beside her bed. The door opened, and the servant from the night before entered. In daylight, Sister Francesco recognized him at last.

“You!” she cried.

“Me, Sister?” he asked, surprised.

Elvira, doubled over laughing at the absurdity of it, could not reply.

“Oh, yes-- of course,” Donna Anna said, a mischievous smile on her face. “Leporello, my friend, you know this lady, don’t you?”

“Know her, mistress--? Hardly….” he trailed off, blinking at Elvira’s face. Then, several expressions passed over him at once-- from recognition, to surprise, to sheer bewilderment.

“Do you forget the face of every woman you’ve kissed, rascal?” Elvira asked.

“No! That is, if your hair is covered, you don’t look the same, is all,” Leporello said, as embarrassed as a schoolboy called before the class.

“How did he come to work with you?” Elvira asked Donna Anna.

“Ah, that is a bit of a long story,” Donna Anna said. “I’m sure Leporello would like to tell it to you himself. Perhaps after dinner? Meanwhile--” she turned to the servant, who bowed slightly-- “I would like you to conduct Sister Francesco to speak with my husband.”

“Of course,” he said. “This way, Sister….”

Don Ottavio met her in his study-- a room that must have once been a dinner hall, it was so large. It dwarfed his table and little collection of books. He blinked at her.

“Elvira! What wonder is this!” he exclaimed.

“I am Sister Francesco, now, Don Ottavio,” she said.

“I see.” He sank into his chair. “How is my wife?”

“She is recovering, signore. But she should not have any more children.”

Don Ottavio stiffened. “Is that your recommendation as a midwife, Sister?”

“As a midwife. As a friend.”

Don Ottavio stood, began pacing back and forth in the grand room. His footsteps echoed loudly. “Of course I want what is best for her. But I also want what is best for my family. Our family.” He gave a meaningful look at the portrait of a man in furs hanging on the wall-- his father, perhaps? A grandfather?

“You have three daughters.”

“And three dowries.” He stopped, looking hard at her. “I am the only surviving son in my family. My brothers, all seven of them, dead. Or worse.”

Elvira bit her tongue to keep from saying, “Surely there is nothing worse than being dead?”

“Pietro, Carmelo, and Gaetano all died in the war against the Turks. Massimo and Fedele both perished as children. Davide was slain in a duel over some young love. And Settimo is… dissipated.” He grimaced. “None of them produced an heir. There is no one to carry my name after me.”

Elvira sighed. “I am very sorry. But your wife’s safety must come first. You certainly wouldn’t try to…?”

“No! Of course not!” Don Ottavio looked aghast. He recovered himself quickly. “Are you sure there is no way for her to have a child safely?”

“No way to be sure it is safe, no.”

“Ah.” He looked at the ground. “Many years ago now… you remember, our conversation? In _that man’s_ palace?”

Elvira smiled at the way he refused to speak the words. “Yes. I remember.”

“I told her, her wishes would always come first for me. And they always have.” He looked up at her with sudden, pleading desperation. “But I _need_ a son. I do not want my name to be lost.”

Elvira took a step back. “You would gamble her life on it?”

Don Ottavio did not answer. His eyes were swimming. Elvira always hated seeing men cry. But she could not-- must not-- let his tears move her. What he wanted was preposterous.

“Can you convince her to try one more time?” he begged. “Just once more. I’m sure it will be a son this time.”

“She is getting older, Don Ottavio,” Elvira said, as gently as she could.

“So am I, Sister. So am I.”

A long silence.

“I will… speak to her,” Elvira said at last. “After dinner. If you do not mind, I would like to stay a few more days to make sure she fully recovers.”

“Of course, of course,” Don Ottavio waved his hand magnanimously. “You are most welcome. Though I do not own this palace, I suppose I am its host for the time being.”

“Oh? It is not your own?”

“No,” he admitted, “it belongs to a friend of mine. We are spending the winter here to keep watch for him, while he travels.”

“It is a lovely place,” Elvira lied.

“Isn’t it?” Don Ottavio stood to lead her to the door. She thanked him, and left. When the great oak door was shut behind her, she muttered a filthy curse. Then crossed herself. Then cursed again for good measure.

What a pathetic man! What a pathetic story! All for a name, a lousy name! Elvira had changed her name twice, now, from C-- to Elvira to Francesco. And she certainly had no attachment to her forebears, whoever or whatever they were. _A name is a name_ , she thought. _So what if it is lost?_

It is for men to worry about such things. No one would remember the name of the midwife nun who delivered hundreds of boys and girls, and helped bury hundreds more.

She returned to the little room beside Donna Anna’s. There, she took off her wimple and let her short red hair fall loose. She was proud of her hair, though that was a sin. A little sin. A little name. A little woman.

She opened her little prayer book and tried to find any poetry in what it had to say.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_There are two kinds of dinners,_ thought Elvira, _those for eating, and those for arguing over._

“You _will_ eat your ham, Marietta,” Don Ottavio insisted with such oblivious earnestness that Elvira had to smile.

“I _will_ not.” Maria crossed her arms and pushed her bench away from the table. “I don’t like ham.”

“You love ham!” Don Ottavio threw up his hands in exasperation. “What has gotten into you today?”

“Why isn’t Mama eating dinner with us?” Maria shot back.

“She isn’t feeling well,” Don Ottavio said. He lowered his voice. “Please eat your ham, Marietta.”

“No,” Maria said. She stood up and went to the door. “I don’t want to. I’m going to bed.”

She slammed the door behind her. From where he stood behind Don Ottavio, Leporello winced. Grazia sniffled. Don Ottavio rubbed his temples.

“More wine, Leporello,” he commanded. Leporello complied, filling everyone’s still mostly-full glasses to the brim. Don Ottavio glowered sternly at his two remaining daughters, as if challenging them to complain, too.

Elvira stood up. “I will go to her,” she said.

“You don’t have to--”

Elvira put on her best Mother Superior impression. “I will go to her, signore,” she said.

He said nothing, merely looking down at his dinner plate.

Maria was lying face down on her bed. Elvira knocked on the inside of the door. Maria looked up, and seemed disappointed.

“Your mother will be alright,” Elvira said. “She is doing much better now.”

Maria just shrugged and wiped her eyes.

“Are you worried about her?” Elvira sat down.

Maria said nothing. She drew her knees up under her chin.

“I will tell her you felt sad when I see her this evening,” Elvira said. “She misses you, too.”

There was another silence. Then Maria asked, “Was the baby a boy?”

“A girl,” Elvira said.

“Ah. We were going to name it Isabella, if it was a girl. Giordano if it was a boy.” Maria rubbed her eyes again. “I wanted a brother.”

Elvira smiled. “Not a sister?”

“I already have _those_ ,” Maria said.

“Well,” Elvira said, “I think a brother and a sister are about the same. I’ve had both.”

“Really?” Maria asked.

“Yes. If they are younger, they are both a bit annoying. But you love them the same, whether they’re a boy or a girl. And your parents love you the same, too, you know.”

“I know,” Maria said. “Though Papa wants a son.”

“That doesn’t mean he loves you less.”

“Of course not,” Maria said. “But I want him to be happy. You understand?”

Elvira shifted in the way that people do when children speak to them too seriously. “Yes, well. His happiness is not your job. Your job is to be a good student of God’s world. To live your life well.”

Maria looked at her blankly. “To practice embroidery, then?”

“Among other things.” Elvira stood up. “Would you like dinner?”

“I think I would like to read,” Maria said, after a moment. “And then go to bed.”

“That sounds fine.” Elvira went to the door. “I will let your family know.”

She returned to the dining room, where she found everyone eating in silence. Leporello seemed relieved to see her, at least.  


“Your daughter is not feeling well, signore,” she said, seating herself again.

“Anyone could see that,” Don Ottavio. He finished his wine. “Don’t let it put you off your dinner, Sister.”

“Of course, signore.”

 

After dinner, Elvira went to see Donna Anna.

“Good evening, signora,” she said, seating herself by the fire.

“Evening, sister.” Donna Anna looked listlessly out the window. The she shrugged, and half-smiled. “How did Ottavio take my decision?”

“Not terribly well, I’m afraid.” Elvira fidgeted with her habit. “He will respect your wishes, of course, but….”

“But he will not be happy,” Donna Anna sighed. “My God! It is hard enough to keep myself happy, without worrying about him.”

“Your safety comes first, signora.”

“I’m sure he spoke of his precious bloodline.” Donna Anna suddenly glared past Elvira at the oak door. “He talks about it all the time. One of the oldest families in Italy, he says, doomed by the folly of his brothers. He knows all about my family, too, of course. My grandparents-- my father’s family-- were Turks. I think he is jealous, sometimes.” She laughed bitterly.

“I’m sure that’s not true, signora--”

“Please don’t call me that,” Donna Anna interrupted her. Elvira was surprised to see the desperation in her eyes. “Call me Anna, please. I haven’t spoken with a friend in ages.”

“Very well. Anna.” Elvira savored the name. “You may call me Elvira-- as long as you don’t tell the Mother Superior.”

Anna giggled. “I won’t tell,” she promised. “Elvira is such a pretty name-- it suits you much better than Francesco.”

“I think so, too,” Elvira said, smiling.

“That reminds me!” Anna clapped her hands. “We were supposed to get Leporello to tell you the story. Hold on a moment-- I will call for him.”

She pulled a red string by her bedside table, and a short moment later the door to the maid’s room opened. She curtseyed, both to Anna and Elvira.

“Please get Leporello for me, Elizabeth,” Anna said very slowly. The girl nodded and went back out.

“She does not speak much Italian,” Anna explained. “My husband hired her on a trip to England. She is a sweet thing, though.”

“Did you go to England, too?” Elvira asked.

“I did-- it’s so cold!” Anna shuddered. “At least, it was when we visited. Actually, that’s where we found Leporello.”

The door opened then, and Leporello bowed slightly. “How may I help you, signora?”

Anna sat up straighter in her bed and grinned. “Sister Francesco would like to hear your story.”

“Oh, all that….” Leporello shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s not too terribly interesting.”

“Don’t spoil the tale before it’s told,” Anna chided. “Come now, sit down, and tell it.”

“Please do,” Elvira encouraged him. “Such a strange coincidence needs explanation.”

“Very well.” He sat down and furrowed his brow, as if trying to recall exactly how it happened. “It was not long after my last master, the one you both knew well, perished, that I found another….”

 

***

 

His name was Nathaniel Morse, and he was an Englishman. I met him in an inn, where he struck me immediately as the sort of man who would need a good servant. He wore spectacles and carried with him a large, bound book. His hair was blond and messy, and he had a habit of tangling it further by running his fingers through it. He was pouring over his book when I saw him, tapping his foot absentmindedly. A clever, busy man who needed help navigating life’s little intricacies-- the sort of person who would pay well and receive any help I could offer with gratitude.

So I thought, when I saw this Nathaniel Morse from across the inn. I approached him, but he was too absorbed in his book to notice me. I cleared my throat.

“Ah, signore--”

He exclaimed something in English. Then, seeing me, he corrected himself. “Sorry-- may I help you?” He spoke good Italian, with a slight accent, slowly enough to be easily understood.

“I am a valet and bookkeeper,” I said, bowing a little. “I am currently in search of a master. I could not help but notice that you seem to be travelling alone. Perhaps, at least while you are in the country...?”

He looked at me carefully, squinting behind his spectacles. “A bookkeeper, you say? What languages do you know?”

“Italian, Spanish, German, and French, signore,” I said, with pride-- though in truth, I only  _ spoke  _ German, and could barely write in French.

He opened his book and pointed to a paragraph. “Is your penmanship good? Could you copy this?”

I peered down at the text. It appeared to be in Latin. “I could copy it, signore-- but I cannot read what it says.”

He snapped the book shut. “You don’t need to read it. Just copy it.” He stood up. “Come with me. I will show you what I need done at my house. If you can do it, and do it well, you are hired.”

He set off, making quick strides. I hurried to keep up with him. 

Signore Morse’s house was offset behind a large garden with a beautiful fountain. It was made of pink stones, which shone white in the moonlight. He unlocked the door and we went inside. 

“The floor is beautiful,” I said, looking down at the mosaic of a mermaid combing her hair.

Signore Morse grunted. “I did not choose the decorations. I am only renting this house.

We went upstairs, and he unlocked a second door, then locked it behind us. The room was windowless and dark as pitch. Signore Morse lit a candelabra. 

I backed up against the locked door. The room was filled with glass boxes, each one containing a snake, or a spider, or some other biting insect. They made ghoulish shapes in the meager light.

He scowled at me. “Nothing in this room will hurt you,” he said. He opened one box. He cooed gleefully as the long, black snake crawled up his arm and encircled his shoulders. “Do you know what this is?” he asked me. I shook my head, saying nothing. “She is called a black mamba. She comes from Africa.” He took a step towards me. “Have you ever heard of black mambas?” I shook my head again. “They are one of the deadliest snakes known to man. One bite will kill you in under an hour.” He was close enough that the snake and I were staring each other in the face. She flicked her tongue at me. 

“I... would prefer you not bring her so close, signore,” I said.

He laughed. “Of course, of course. Come, don’t be frightened.” He put the mamba back in her tank and closed the lid. “You do not have to touch them. I take complete charge of their care and upkeep. What I need you to do is to copy my notes so I may send them off for publication. I trust you can handle that.”

I nodded.

“Good lad,” he said. Then he looked closer at my face. “Are you really so afraid of my little pets? Well, then, we don’t have to stay in here. I will show you where you may sleep tonight.”

Signore Morse travelled all around Europe, trading and giving private exhibitions of his animal collection. I spent most of the day among his books, copying down passages he marked out for me. Occasionally he would call me into the animal room to see some new specimen-- I think my awkward attempts at polite interest amused him. 

“Leporello, my friend,” he said one day, “I have become a very famous man-- me and my wonderful animals.”

“That is very good, signore,” I said. 

“I want to do something bigger-- something grander.” He paced around the room. “A public exhibition! That would shock them.”

“Is that such a good idea?” I asked.

“Of course it’s a good idea! I already have admirers among the nobility. The King might even make me a knight.” He puffed out his chest and polished his spectacles with his silk rag. “Sir Nathaniel-- it has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so, signore."

Once an idea got lodged on my master’s head, it was very hard to get rid of it. Soon, he was making arrangements for us to go to England, a trip which would coincide with the great feast the King was holding for all the foreign diplomats. 

My God, never in my life had I seen so many people! They had come from all over the world, and spoke so many languages so loudly you could hardly hear your own thoughts. My master and I pulled behind us a cart filled boxes of animals, each one more dangerous than the last. My master had scorpions, tarantulas, snakes, worms, and hornets. He hauled them all into the main hall of the castle, where I set up his tent. 

He sent me off with flyers advertising our show, and soon I had gathered a large crowd. I do not think the King was there-- he might have been-- there were too many people packed too closely around us for me to see. But my master acted like he was there, he got so excited. He dabbed sweat from his brow with his handkerchief and switched between riling up the crowd in English to giving me my orders in Italian. I pulled the sheets off the glass tanks, and the audience gasped.

“A black mamba!” Signore Morse cried, lifting up the box. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright with the joy of being in the center of all these people’s attention. I do not like to be at the center of such things. The snake didn’t seem to either-- she writhed back and forth in her little enclosure as people moved in for a closer look. As my master reached into the box, I muttered a swift prayer.

But oh, it was in vain! The black mamba crawled up his arm, as she usually did, but as she curled around his neck, instead of settling by his ear, she sank her teeth into his throat! My master screamed, and collapsed to his knees.

The people thought it was a joke-- they laughed and cheered-- but then the snake disentangled herself and coursed into the crowd. A panic arose as people scrambled to get out of her way. By the time the snake had escaped out into the bushes, my master had fainted.

The people hesitated, waiting for him to stand up. Then they started to mutter darkly among themselves. They were all looking at me. Some of them started to whisper and point. I wished to God I could speak their language. Guards were arriving, their hands on their swords. I backed up-- but I was caught between the crowd and the late Signore Morse’s terrible animals-- what an awful inheritance! 

I felt a hand grab my shoulder. I looked up, and almost fell over in surprise. Of course I recognized Don Ottavio-- I remember the face of everyone I’ve ever met. 

“Hush,” he said to me. “They think you charmed the snake to kill this man.”

“I did not!” I cried. “I was praying! Only praying!”

“I know that. I will explain to the guards. I am one of the diplomats sent from Italy.”

He spoke to the guards in halting English. Slowly, they lowered their weapons. They spoke among themselves, then their leader gave the final word to Don Ottavio. He turned to me.

“They are going to confiscate these animals,” he said. 

“Thank God,” I said.

The guards began to wheel the remaining tanks away. Don Ottavio took my arm. “The crowd is still angry. Come with me.”

We fled the mob together, and he led me down a little hall, into a series of guest rooms. “My family is staying here,” he explained. “You may remain with us.”

“Thank you, thank you signore,” I said, relieved. “But I don’t know the language here-- I don’t know how to get back home.”

“Ottavio? Who is that?”

That was when Donna Anna came into the room, holding baby Marietta to her breast. She took one look at me and gave a short, shocked laugh.

“What is he doing here?” she asked. “Is that not the servant of the man who killed my father?”

“Is it?” Don Ottavio looked surprised. “I had to help him out of what could have become a diplomatic issue.”

He explained the situation to her. She sat down, still staring at me. 

“I don’t want him in our house,” she said. 

“Of course. He will leave as soon as we return to Italy,” Don Ottavio promised. 

She sighed, and I fidgeted.

“Very well,” she said. “Put him to work, at least.”

They had, Don Ottavio informed me, permission from the chief diplomat only to employ one servant-- an English girl named Elizabeth-- so I would not be paid in anything but a place to stay and food to eat. They set me to work keeping house for them in their apartments provided by the King. Elizabeth, who was about thirteen at the time, was little good for company-- she had discerned that her mistress disliked me, and had taken it upon herself to despise me. Besides, she was busy taking care of the baby.

It happened one day-- one of the last days before we were to set off for Italy-- that Donna Anna, Elizabeth, the baby, and I were waiting in the apartments for Don Ottavio to return from some meeting. Elizabeth and the baby were playing on the floor. Donna Anna was reading. I was fixing a tear in one of Don Ottavio’s suit-coats.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Elizabeth went to answer it. She opened the door, and a large, blond Englishman blustered in. 

He bowed deeply to Donna Anna, and spoke to her in his rough language. She moved away from him, not speaking. 

He continued to approach her. Elizabeth grabbed the baby and hid behind me. I coughed.

The man looked at me, and laughed. He reached over and tousled my hair. I ducked away from him. 

I straightened my shoulders. I put on my best approximation of an English accent and said, “Golishit, bustard-- fudisham!”-- of course, that means nothing, but it sounded rude enough. 

The Englishman blinked at me in confusion. He said something in a questioning tone of voice.

“Dismas!” I cried, pushing him back. “Gameral-- idiad!”

The Englishman muttered something under his breath, gathered himself, and fled the room. 

There was a brief silence. Then, Donna Anna and Elizabeth both burst out laughing.

“Leporello….” Donna Anna stopped, wiping tears from her eyes. “Leporello, I do know English.”

I smiled a little. “Well, er, I do not.”

“Obviously.” She composed herself a little. “I suppose I should thank you. That was… effective.”

“It was but my duty, signora,” I said, bowing. 

“Yes, yes. Get back to work.”

I did, and time passed slowly until Don Ottavio returned. He was late, and when he arrived, he was out of breath.

“We need to pack-- now,” he gasped. “The chief diplomat killed one of the English princes in a duel. If we are not out of here by sundown, the king will have our heads!”

Donna Anna stood up and took the baby. “My God! Elizabeth, pack our things-- go on!”

It occured to me, then, seeing the fear in their eyes, that naturally these people had never been on the run from the law before. Luckily for them, I had-- many times. Too many times, really, for comfort.

“Pardon me, signore,” I said, “but you should leave some things unpacked. Anything extra, leave it behind. It will be quicker, and they will not suspect you are gone until later.”

“What? Oh… I suppose you’re right,” Don Ottavio said. “Anna, can we spare anything?”

“I-- I think so. Some of the dresses I bought to wear here….”

“Right. Only the essentials, then.” He started picking up the sewing materials and putting them in their bag. I assisted him. 

“Perhaps it would be best,” I suggested, “if we leave out the servants’ entrance.”

“I see,” Don Ottavio nodded. “Where is that, exactly?”

“Elizabeth and I will show you.”

We finished packing the necessities, and headed out the servants’ door, down a spiral staircase, and out into the street. Don Ottavio and Donna Anna froze when they saw the guards milling around.

“Keep walking,” I urged. “Don’t act like you’re scared.”

They tried to avoid looking at the guards, but in trying too hard, they attracted the attention of a tall, strapping lad. He spoke to Don Ottavio in English. Don Ottavio made a nervous reply. The lad put his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

“Faint,” I whispered to Donna Anna.

She blinked, then nodded. With a muffled scream, she collapsed.

Don Ottavio, catching on, shouted at the guard-- presumably to tell him to get help. The lad turned pale and ran off. 

“We have to move fast, now,” I said, helping Donna Anna up. “Which way to the wharf?”

Don Ottavio led the way, and we started off at a quick pace to the west. 

“We’re going to want to get on the first ship we see,” I said. “It doesn’t matter where it’s going-- we can find another ship back to Italy when we arrive.”

Don Ottavio just nodded, too winded to reply. The wharf was busy enough to hide our presence. I navigated us towards one of the departing ships. The boatswain was German, so I could speak to him a little.

“How much for us to come with you?” I asked him.

“No room,” he grunted. 

“I asked how much,” I said again, “for you to make room.”

He squinted down at me. “Nine doubloons,” he sneered.

Don Ottavio understood him enough to comply. He stepped aside to let us on the ship-- just as the guards arrived. They shouted after us as we hurried aboard. I heard the boatswain yell at them in German: “No one gets on without paying!"

Donna Anna took the baby from Elizabeth. “You can leave now, dear,” she said. Then, she repeated it in English.

Elizabeth shook her head. She spoke rapidly in her own language. Don Ottavio translated for my benefit.

“She wants to stay. Says she has no family. She can take care of the baby… I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Let her stay,” I said. “It’s a better life than she’d have here.”

I gave her an understanding look. She smiled a little. I remember being in her position-- it is not a comfortable place. To have nothing to offer but your own life. 

I found a place for Don Ottavio, Donna Anna, and the baby to stay. Elizabeth and I would sleep in the hold with the other servants. The ship set sail-- we were off to Spain.

I suppose, after all that, I had proven that I was competent enough. When we made it back to Italy, Don Ottavio and Donna Anna agreed to keep me on their staff. It’s been a good life-- a simple life. Of the three lives I’ve led, I’d say it’s been the best.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Anna and Ottavio Experience Trouble in Paradise, Elvira Takes a Practical Approach to Religious Matters, and Leporello Once Again Suffers for the Whims of the Landed Gentry

Elvira laughed. “Heavens! A most diverting tale.”

Anna shrugged, hiding a smile. “It certainly was an exciting time.”

Leporello bowed awkwardly, clearly a little embarrassed at having gone on for so long about himself. “If that will be all, signora…?”

“Oh, of course!” Anna waved her hand. “At your leisure, my dear Leporello.”

Leporello bowed again to them both, and hurried out the door. Once he was gone, Elvira asked, “So I’m to imagine you took to him so quickly?”

“More or less.” Anna looked away. “It was my husband’s idea, really. I think he finds the fellow amusing. Which is not to say that I do not, of course-- he’s grown on me, I suppose. We’ve all grown on each other quite a bit.” She turned back to Elvira and gave her a sudden intense glare. “I love Ottavio,” she insisted, “with all my heart.”

Elvira, startled, could only nod in agreement.

“Would I have had three children with him if I did not love him? Would I have come with him to this crumbling relic? Would I have tossed away my masquerade costumes for the attire of a humble and matronly wife?” She laughed, bitterly. “Oh no, my friend, I love him dearly.”

Elvira hesitated, then said, “I never insinuated that you did not, Anna. I would never.”

Anna blinked. “No-- no, of course you didn’t… I don’t know why I’m speaking this way. I’m sorry-- please forgive me. It’s just-- it’s been so long since I’ve spoken to a woman my own age who doesn’t have to curtsy when she sees me….”

“You don’t often have guests?”

“No.” Anna took a shaky breath. “We are… not well-off, at the moment. Ottavio says we cannot afford parties. He hopes to gain some advantage by staying in this place-- God knows what!-- but no one comes to see us anymore. But perhaps you could?”

Elvira shook her head. “Anna, I have my duty to God. Tomorrow, I must return to the convent. And unless it’s a medical emergency, nuns do not go visiting.”

Anna’s shoulders slumped. “I see…”

Silence fell between them. The clock struck eleven. Elvira straightened her habit. “I should let you get to sleep.”

Anna nodded. “Yes, naturally. Good night, Sister.”

Startled by her sudden coolness, Elvira opened her mouth-- then closed it again. Of course, it had been foolish to think they could be good friends. She had her duty. Anna had hers. Without a word, she stood, and headed to her bed.

  
  


***

  
  


By the following morning, she returned to the convent at the other end of town. She did not say goodbye to Anna or her callous husband, and gave only a curt nod to Leporello as he helped her into the carriage. When little Marietta waved from the window, however, she smiled and waved back.

She never could maintain anger for long.

The Reverend Mother set her to work instructing the novices as soon as she returned. She drilled them on the life of St. Paul, doing her best to keep the girls in line with a well-placed disapproving glower. 

But the novices weren’t frightened of her, of course. Not the way the were frightened of the Reverend Mother. She had comforted too many of them in their moments of weakness, led too many wandering girls back to the fold, to be as dour a figure as she’d like. 

The days passed slowly-- there were no children for her to deliver, in either sense of the word, and save for the fiery little priest’s sermon on Damnation, all was quiet. 

Then, one evening, as Elvira swept the entrance to the Abbey, she heard a pounding on the door. Sister Veronica, an older woman and quite severe, opened the little window. “What is so urgent, my son?” she asked.

To Elvira’s surprise, she heard Leporello’s voice reply: “My mistress has fallen ill… she wishes to see someone here.”

Sister Veronica scoffed. “How ill, then? If we sent out a nun every time a lady got the cold we’d have no time to minister to the poor. Is she dying, my son?”

“Er… not  _ dying _ , no…”

“What a relief! Is she giving birth?”

“No, but--”

“God bless us! Has she fallen down a well, then? Is she bleeding out as we speak?”

“Sister, please--”

Elvira stood and put her hand on Sister Veronica’s arm. “Sister, let me speak to the man,” she said.

“Oh! It’s you!” Leporello seemed quite relieved. “Hello! Donna Anna wishes to see you at once!”

“Now she wants a specific nun? My son, this is not a  _ brothel _ . You can’t make  _ requests _ ,” Sister Veronica sneered.

Leporello ignored her. “Don Ottavio sent me. He said not to come back without you, and I’d rather come back.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s a bit cold out, you know.”

“I’d have to ask the Reverend Mother for permission,” Elvira said. 

“She won’t give it.” Sister Veronica sniffed. “He won’t even say what’s wrong with the good lady.”

Elvira sighed. “Alright, Leporello. What’s the matter with Donna Anna.”

“I-- I don’t know, precisely,” he stammered. “She won’t leave her room. It’s… melancholy, I think.”

Sister Veronica threw up her hands. “Melancholy! How in the world does she expect Sister Francesco to cure  _ melancholy _ ?” 

“I’ll speak to the Reverend Mother,” Elvira said. “Sister Veronica, for God’s sake, don’t bite his head off while I’m gone.”

She hurried to the offices of the Reverend Mother, where the woman kept her vast library-- mostly of musical scores. She knocked on the door.

“Come in, my child.”

She went in, and knelt before her desk. “Reverend Mother, a gentleman has come to request my services, to assist a noblewoman who has fallen ill.”

“Hm.” The Reverend Mother stroked her chin. “Do you wish to go?”

“I wish to do whatever I can to best serve the Lord,” Elvira said contritely. 

“Ah. Then you will not go, because this is a noblewoman, and she can get the best doctors in Europe to come to her door if she wishes. Your duty is to the poor. That is how you will best serve the Lord.” The Reverend Mother settled back in her chair and watched her through half-closed eyes.

Elvira hesitated. Then she said, “Forgive me, Reverend Mother. I spoke falsely. I do wish to go to this noblewoman.”

The Reverend Mother’s expression did not change. “And why is that, my child?”

“I…” Elvira swallowed. This woman could indeed make her feel like a child. It was a power few possessed. “I consider her a friend, Reverend Mother. A friend from before I took my vows.”

“I see. You are drifting, my child.”

Elvira winced. “Reverend Mother--”

“Do not interrupt. You are drifting away from God. It happens to everyone. I’m surprised it didn’t happen to you sooner.” The Reverend Mother stood up and went to the window. She looked out on the sheep grazing in the pasture. “You know what is right.”

Elvira nodded. “Yes, Reverend Mother. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

She took her leave and returned to the entrance of the abbey, where Sister Veronica was waiting.

Seeing Elvira’s expression, she announced, smugly, “I think you’ll be taking your leave, my son.”

Leporello started. “She-- she said no?”

Elvira edged around Sister Veronica to look through the window at him. “I’m afraid so.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” he complained. “Don Ottavio told me, explicitly, not to return without Sister Francesco. And Sister Francesco is forbidden to come. So what, I’m supposed to sit here and wait until the Reverend Mother changes her mind?”

“She won’t,” Sister Veronica said.

“Can’t you just go back and tell them it’s impossible?” Elvira cajoled. 

Leporello shook his head. “I’m not to come back without you.”

Elvira sighed. She went to the wall to get the key, and opened the door. 

“What are you doing?” Sister Veronica squawked. “He can’t come in here!”

“No,” Elvira said. “I’m going out.”

She shut the door, cutting off Sister Veronica’s indignant exclamation. She looked down at Leporello with as stern an expression as she could muster.

“Let’s go, then,” she said. Her breath made fog in the air. Leporello, a little in awe, nodded.

She was off in the carriage again. She took off her wimple and let her cropped hair hang loose around her ears. She shook it out.

“I’m not going to see her as a nun,” she explained, “but as a friend.”

“I see.” Leporello glanced at her sidelong. “Are you going to get in trouble?”

“Most likely, yes.”

He tugged at the scarf around his neck. “I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble for my sake.”

“For your sake? Ha!” Elvira snorted. “I’m doing my sacred duty. The Reverend Mother will understand.”

Leporello gave an uncomprehending grunt of agreement. 

The old palace loomed before them. Elvira gathered herself as best she could. She and Leporello left the coach and went inside.

“You came! Thank God!” Don Ottavio exclaimed. Elvira was surprised to see how worn out he looked. He had heavy bags under his eyes and his hair was uncombed. “My wife has not left her rooms in days-- not even to eat. The children are frightened, I’m--” He broke off. His eyes were filling with tears again. 

Elvira coughed uncomfortably. “She called for me specifically?” 

“Yes, damn her-- I’m sorry, Sister,” Don Ottavio excused himself quickly, “but I just don’t understand it! What can she want you for so desperately?”

“May I speak with her?”

“Yes, yes! Of course! Leporello, what are you doing, standing there? Take her upstairs, at once!”

Leporello hurried to oblige him. Elvira walked ahead of him, already, of course, knowing the way. They stopped at Anna’s door. Leporello paused, then knocked on her door.

“What?” came the irritated reply.

“Um, signora, it’s Leporello-- I’ve brought Sister Francesco.”

“You have?” A momentary silence. “Let her in, then.”

Leporello opened the door, and Elvira stepped inside.

“Shut the door,” Anna commanded. He did.

The two women stared at each other.

Anna looked... fine. Even beautiful, Elvira thought. She sat straight up in her bed, her hands folded on her lap. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders. She wore nothing but a white slip. Elvira found herself blushing without quite knowing why.

“You’ve come, then.”

“Not as a nun,” Elvira said. “As your friend.”

“Hence the--” Anna gestured at Elvira’s hair. Elvira’s hand moved self-consciously to brush it out of her face. Anna looked away. “It’s pretty,” she mumbled. 

“Thank you.” Elvira sat down in the chair beside Anna’s bed. “Anna, is there something the matter?”

“I… I don’t know,” Anna said. In the candlelight, Elvira saw her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. “I must be more upset about this miscarriage than I thought. Since you left I’ve felt all sorts of terrible things.”

“Terrible things?”

Anna gave a shuddering sigh. “I love Ottavio. I love him. But… I can’t look at him. I can’t speak to him. I know he longs for me but the thought of him touching me turns my stomach. Aren’t I horrible?”

“No!” Elvira said quickly. “You’re not horrible at all.”

“I’m a terrible wife. I’m a disgrace of a mother.” Anna buried her face in her hands. Then she peered through her fingers at Elvira. “Did he tell you about Graziella? She was crying for me outside the door and I did not answer. I just covered my ears and waited for her to give up. We-- we had a nurse, but, we couldn’t afford….” She trailed off. 

Elvira said nothing. She stared down at her lap. Elvira was suffering. It was an old suffering, one she had seen in many of the peasant women she ministered to. Their stories ended badly. Elvira could not save them from the devil that took the form of their husbands, their fathers-- men who owned them. She had suffered, too, once. She did not like to think of it. 

“Anna,” she said at last, “what was it you wanted to do in life? Before you married Ottavio?”

Anna wrapped her arms around herself. “I wanted to paint,” she whispered.

“You don’t paint, now?”

Anna shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I’m too busy.”

“But Ottavio, he’s never too busy for his pastimes, is he?”

“No….”

“If he loves you,” Elvira said, “he will do the work to make sure you have time for your painting.”

Anna stared at her. Then, she laughed-- a laugh so harsh it made Elvira’s heart skip a beat. 

“Oh, Elvira,” she said, “I know he doesn’t love me enough to do  _ that _ .”

Elvira was at a loss for words.

Anna wiped her eyes, and settled her face into an acceptably neutral attitude. “You will remain the night.” It wasn’t a question.

“I suppose,” Elvira said. “But I’m worried about you. If you’re so unhappy with him, you should tell him.”

“Unhappy? How could I ever be unhappy? I have the nicest husband in the world.” Anna rang the bell for Leporello, who had evidently been waiting at the door, because it opened just then.

“Take Elvira to the guest room, please,” Anna said.

Leporello bowed, and led Elvira down the hall.

“Is she quite alright?” he asked, after a moment.

“I don’t know,” Elvira said. “She seemed very troubled.”

Leporello looked around. Then he whispered, “It is not... a good marriage. They fought all day yesterday until she kicked him out of her room. The children are scared. I don’t know what to do-- I mean, it’s hardly  _ my  _ place to do anything.” He wrung his hands nervously. 

Elvira nodded sympathetically. “I don’t know what to do either. But Donna Anna needs a friend. I can be a friend to her, at the least.”

“I think that’s best. She is dreadfully lonely up in this desolate place.” He shivered a little. 

Elvira regarded him. “What do you think of it?” she asked. 

“It’s probably haunted,” he said with such gravity that Elvira had to stifle a laugh.

They arrived at the guest room, and Elvira settled herself in. She lied back on the bed and stared up at the stone ceiling. My God! What an oppressively miserable environment! It would drive anyone to melancholy. Elvira turned over on her side to look out the window. The moonlight reflected brilliant white against the snow. 

She let herself drift off into unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry that this is taking a while to write... I think I've gotten the hang of things a bit better now.   
> I am also sorry that this is essentially Ibsen's "A Doll's House" set in medievalish Italy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which The Late Don Giovanni Was More of a Jerk Than We Knew, Elvira is Gainfully Employed, Ottavio Has a Lousy Day, and Leporello is Famous in Vienna

The following morning she went to the kitchen to get some bread and coffee for the lady of the house. The little maid was there, preparing the coffee over the fire. She looked up when Elvira entered, and hastily curtsied.

“Morning, Sister.”

“Good morning, Elizabeth. Could you pour me some of that, to bring to your mistress?”

Elizabeth paused, to gather the words in her head. “That is my duty, Sister,” she said.

“I know. But I would like to speak to the lady this morning.”

Elizabeth eyed her suspiciously, but she did pour the coffee into a little teacup, and set it on the tray alongside some fresh baked bread and butter.

“You have no cook?” Elvira asked.

The maid shook her head. “Only me and the coachman Guglielmo, and Leporello.”

“That is a lot of work for the three of you.”

“I don’t mind it,” Elizabeth said quickly.

Elvira took the tray. “I’ll go see her now. Thank you, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth nodded, and watched her through narrowed eyes as she went upstairs.

Anna did not answer her knock on the door, so Elvira took the liberty of letting herself in. Anna was asleep. As Elvira set the tray on her bedside table, she awoke, blinking blearily.

“Elizabeth?” she asked.

“Elvira.” Elvira sat in the chair next to the bed and put her chin in her hands. “Today I am going to solve some of your problems.”

Anna rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Eight.” She waited while Anna took the cup of black coffee and sipped it. “You don’t have a nurse, you said.”

“No….”

“I shall be your nurse.”

Anna laughed, spilling a little coffee on her blanket. “I told you, we don’t have the money.”

“Make a small donation to the convent every month,” Elvira said. “I trust you can afford at least that.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you leave them?”

“I am going where God needs me.”

Anna’s lip curled. “What a holy lie!”

Elvira stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”

“If you were going where God needs you, you would go minister to the beggars and the whores. Ottavio may be in debt, but so far we are neither.”

“I mean….” Elvira trailed off, trying to collect herself. Of course, she was right. It was a lie-- but it was a necessary lie. She could not even begin to explain the truth. She had no words for it. It was something beyond language-- and might that not be a message from God?

Anna softened a little. She reached out and touched Elvira’s hand. “I just want to know, why me? Why do you want to help me, out of everyone?”

The feeling of Anna’s slender fingers stroking her palm made Elvira’s very heart tremble. She bit her lip. Why Anna? Why now? She was too old to feel like this. She was too old and too worn out.

Anna looked at her expectantly, curiosity in her brown eyes. Elvira stared down at her lap.

“It’s what happened ten years ago,” she said. “You won’t want to talk about it, of course….”

“No-- no, I mean, I didn’t think _you_ wanted to talk about it.” Anna set her cup aside. “If you want to, though, we can.”

“I do. I’d like to, that is.” There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Elvira spoke again. “I was in a bad situation when he found me. My parents were threatening to throw me out. My grandfather wanted to send me to a madhouse. I was afraid. One evening, around sunset, I stole one of my sister’s dresses. I spent hours running, until I reached a tavern at a crossroads. I knew I had to find a man. With him there, I did not have to look very long.

“I don’t remember what he said to me. He listened to my problems and seemed sympathetic. He invited me to come back to his room where he and his valet were staying.

“I balked at sharing a room with two men-- strangers-- but he swore on his very life no harm would come to me. And what choice did I have? I couldn’t go home. I had no money to buy my own room.  What could I do but trust him?

“He woke his man up and told him to sleep by the fireplace so I could have his bed. I slept in my clothes.

“The next day we rode into town and he bought for me several dresses and pairs of shoes. We went to a hairdresser who told me I was beautiful. He smiled, and agreed. I was in love. Imagine living your whole life expecting unkindness, only to receive tenderness at last. It was as if I were starving and he offered me a feast. I loved him, with every breath I loved him.

“He loved me, too. He stroked my cheeks and told me they were like silk. He promised he would keep me safe. He kissed me in the street, in broad daylight, not a care in the world. And he did not touch me beyond that small gentleness.

“Until, one night, on his knees he swore he’d marry me. I laughed at first, thinking it was a joke. But I saw such earnestness in his eyes. He truly meant to marry me, in that moment. I know he did.

“He was the first, and the last, man I ever let see me naked. To my wonder, he did not recoil. He embraced me like he had waited years, not days, for this moment. And he loved me-- he loved me. I fell asleep with his arms around me, my head buried in his chest. He stroked my hair and whispered that I was beautiful, that I was his.

“When I woke up, he was gone. His things had disappeared. My dresses still hung in the closet, the hair pins and necklaces he bought were sitting neatly arrayed on the desk. But there was no trace he had ever been there.

“Except the money, of course. Four doubloons. My pay for the previous night, I imagine. I felt sick. I ran downstairs and asked the innkeeper if he had seen my husband leave. He laughed at me and said he did, he was out like a shot around four in the morning.

“‘Where? What direction?’ I nearly shouted.

“‘South, signorina. South.’

“So I packed up all he had given me and headed to find him. What else could I do? I knew no one else, loved no one else.  

“Until I met you. You were my first true friend,” she finished. She looked up and was alarmed to see tears in Anna’s eyes. “Don’t cry. It’s all in the past.”

Anna wiped her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry. It’s only-- I hadn’t imagined. I hadn’t-- I didn’t think to ask at the time.” She stood up and paced around her room. “What happened to those clothes he bought you?”

“The convent donates all our lay clothes when we become nuns.”

Anna threw open her closet. “Then you shall wear my dresses from now on.”

Elvira’s eyes widened. “Oh, Anna, I couldn’t possibly--”

Anna whirled around. Her eyes were fiery with some unnameable emotion. “You only brought your habit with you, didn’t you? And you’re my friend. Get up. Pick your favorite and try it on.”

Elvira complied. She gingerly tugged at one of the plainer, more common-sense dresses. “Do you think I--”

“Try it on,” Anna insisted. She went behind Elvira and began to untie her habit.

The habit fell to the floor and Elvira stepped out of it. She straightened her shift and then stepped into the pale blue dress. It was soft and slightly faded, but it had been so long since Elvira had worn anything but black robes that it might as well have been a masquerade gown. She swayed her hips, mesmerized by the movement of the wide skirt. Behind her, Anna tightened the bodice.

Anna walked around her, examining her handiwork. “You look beautiful,” she said at last.

Elvira felt her cheeks grow warm. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Anna said decisively. “Except for your hair, no one would think you were a nun.”

Elvira laughed, and grabbed Anna’s hands. She spun her around the room in a gleeful jig. Then they both collapsed on the floor, laughing to the point of tears.

“Oh, my dear Elvira,” Anna gasped, “you’ll make a wonderful nurse.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. The two women scrambled to their feet.

“It’s Ottavio,” came the muffled voice. “Anna, are you in there?”

Anna opened the door. Ottavio looked past her and stared, bug-eyed, at Elvira.

“Sister Francesco!” he gasped.

“Just Signorina Elvira, for now,” Elvira said good-naturedly. “I believe I’m to be your daughters’ governess.”

Ottavio looked back at Anna. “We can’t afford a governess.”

“We’ll be making a monthly donation to her convent. I trust you can find some money for that, or are we in such a dire position?”

“No, of course-- but-- surely a governess should wear something more modest than _that_.”

Anna drew herself up to her full height. “She’ll wear what pleases her.”

Ottavio sighed audibly. “Whatever you wish. Won’t you come join us downstairs?”

“Of course,” Anna said. “I’ll have to speak to the girls regarding the new arrangement.”

“Right. I believe they’re in the drawing room with Leporello.”

The three of them headed downstairs, where they did indeed find Maria, Viviana, and Grazia, demanding that Leporello carry all of them on his back at once. He was in the middle of arguing that that would be impossible when they were blessedly distracted by the arrival of their mother. They immediately stopped their roughhousing and stared up at her in bashful awe.

Anna cleared her throat. “Girls, this woman will be your nurse from now on. She will be charged with your education in literature and music. Do you remember when you had a nurse before?”

Maria and Viviana nodded. Grazia sucked her thumb.

“You are to call her Signorina Elvira,” Anna said, “as she is your nurse, and not a nun.”

Elvira gave a small curtsy. “I look forward to working with you.”

Viviana awkwardly returned the gesture. Maria giggled.

“Well then,” Ottavio said, “I imagine they all want to get to know each other better. Come along, Anna. Leporello, tell the coachman to ready my horse.”

Leporello, happy to escape the clutches of his three young mistresses, darted off. Anna frowned, asking, “Where are you going?” but they had headed out the door before Elvira could hear his reply.

She was left alone with the children. Maria was the first to speak. “Do you play chess?” she asked.

“I do,” said Elvira.

Maria seemed to find this acceptable. “Vivi, get the board.”

Viviana stuck out her tongue. “Get it yourself!”

Maria looked abashed at this show of mutiny before the new governess. “You played with it last,” she said gently, “you know where it is.”

Viviana would not be moved by logic. “I’m not your _maid_.”

“I never said you were! I only meant that you know where it is!”

“Viviana,” Elvira said, “where is the chessboard?”

“On the shelf in our room.”

“Then let’s go to your room to play. It’s a bit drafty in here anyway.”

That seemed to suit everyone fine. Once they were in the children’s room, Maria and Viviana took out the chess set. Grazia grabbed a little doll and sat on the floor, watching, and sucking her thumb.

“We’re both very good at chess,” Maria said, nodding at Viviana, who beamed. “We’re trying to teach Graziella, but she chews on the pieces.”

“She might be a little young,” Elvira said. She picked up Grazia and set her on her lap. “She and I can keep score.”

“Make sure Vivi doesn’t cheat,” Maria said.

“I don’t cheat!” her sister cried. “That’s a mean lie!”

“Sometimes she pretends she forgot the rules and moves an extra space,” Maria said.

“That’s not cheating! I really forget!” Viviana looked close to tears. Elvira held up her hand.

“I will make sure you both remember the rules,” she promised. “I know them by heart.”

“So do I,” Maria said under her breath.

Viviana stuck out her tongue again. “Black goes first,” she said. She moved her pawn.

Out of three games, Maria won two. But Grazia considered herself the clear winner, as Elvira had sewn the hole in her doll shut while the older girls played.

At the sound of the horse’s whinny, all three girls jumped up and ran to the window. They opened the shutters and peered out into the frosty winter twilight. Elvira went behind them, half afraid they’d lean too far and fall.

She squinted down at the courtyard. She could just make out Don Ottavio, and beside him, another man-- very tall and lean, it seemed.

Viviana let out a whoop. “Uncle Settimo!” she cried. She leapt away from the window and ran down the hall. Her sisters followed her, chattering excitedly. Elvira shrugged, and, picking up her skirt, ran after them.

“Don’t go out without coats!” she yelled, but they paid her no mind. They flung open the front door and jumped into the tall man’s arms.

“Ah, what a warm welcome, eh Ottaviotto?” this man-- he must be Don Settimo-- exclaimed.

“Don’t call me that,” Don Ottavio muttered.

“Whatever you say, Ottaviotto.” Settimo grinned smugly. Seeing Elvira, he waved. “Hello! Are you the nurse, then?”

Elvira curtsied, saying nothing.

“A pleasure. I’m Don Settimo.” He bowed.

“Elvira,” she said.

“I won at chess today!” Viviana exclaimed.

“Once! I won twice,” Maria corrected her.

“Shut up!”

Settimo laughed and set them down. He stood a good head above his younger brother, and had a rather dandyish mustache. But he was very well dressed and looked remarkably fit. Hadn’t Ottavio said he was “dissipated?”

“Where’s Leporello?” Ottavio demanded. It took Elvira a moment to realize he was asking her. How should she know?

Luckily, Leporello arrived at that moment. “Oh! Evening, signore,” he said.

Settimo’s eyes lit up. He bowed low to the servant. “Is this the rascally man I’ve heard so much about?” he asked.

Leporello, flustered, could only stammer, “You-- you heard of me?”

Settimo straightened and laughed uproariously. Composing himself, he said, “In my brother’s letters, my dear friend! Your London escapade was the talk of Vienna, I’ll have you know.”

Leporello seemed not to know what to do with that information. Ottavio coughed. “Can you carry my brother’s bags up to one of the guest rooms, please?”

“Oh-- oh. Of course.” Leporello picked up Settimo’s bags and started hauling them up the stairs into the palace.

“Heavens! He’s strong, isn’t he!” Settimo nudged Ottavio in the ribs. Ottavio went to smack his arm, but Settimo danced nimbly out of the way.“Manners, Ottaviotto. I’ll go see if I can help the poor fellow.”

Anna came out of the stable, then. She brushed hay from her skirt and grinned at Elvira.

“Well?” she prompted.

“What’s he doing here?” Elvira asked.

“He bought the palace!” Anna said with a giggle. Ottavio grimaced.

“It turns out my friend was looking to sell it. Just my luck he happened to tell my good-for-nothing brother,” he grumbled.

“Well, if he can afford a palace, he’s hardly good for nothing, is he?” Elvira said, smirking.

Ottavio flushed. “He certainly has money. I meant in... other ways.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

Ottavio lowered his voice. Anna and Elvira both leaned closer to hear him. “He’s a composer.”

“That’s a perfectly respectable career these days,” Elvira said.

Ottavio shook his head. “The problem is… he’s a _good_ composer. And he _knows_ it.”

“Ah.” Elvira glanced back towards the palace.

“You can imagine how he is at parties,” Ottavio said, shuddering.

Anna scoffed. “I think he’s perfectly delightful. A man can do to be a little arrogant from time to time.”

Ottavio frowned at her. “I can’t say I know what you mean.”

“Never mind. But see, Elvira! We’ll have parties again! And concerts! It will be wonderful!” Anna clasped Elvira’s hands and seemed to simply glow.

“I look forward to getting to know the gentleman,” Elvira said. “But do let’s go indoors. My stockings are freezing to my legs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have truly no idea how diminutives work in Italian. My apologies to any Italians in the audience.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Settimo Commits a Terrible Faux-Pas, Leporello Faces His Demons, and Elvira Comes to a Decision

Settimo had brought with him the makings of a more fabulous dinner than the household had seen in months. By nine o’clock, Elizabeth and Leporello, with some assistance from Elvira (who was a very good cook) and Anna (who was not), had prepared two roast pheasants, a stew, a pasta dish, and three loaves of good white bread. Settimo provided the good wine (French) and the best wine (Italian), and in a few trips they all brought the lot of it into the dining room. Ottavio sat at the head of the table before his brother could take the place. Settimo grinned at him and took the other end. Anna and Elvira exchanged a glance, before sitting together opposite the three girls. Viviana reached for a piece of bread and Maria slapped her hand. Before a fight could break out, Ottavio raised his chalice.

“I’d like to make a toast,” he said like he’d rather do anything else. “To my brother Settimo, for his generosity. May he live a long and happy life.”

“To Settimo!” came the chorus. Settimo feigned modesty and laughed.

“My God! How formal. So these are the country manners you hear so much about!” He looked back over his shoulder, where Elizabeth and Leporello stood attendant. “But what are they doing? Don’t they eat?”

Ottavio rubbed his temples. “The servants have their dinner after we do, in the kitchen. We may have, er,  ‘country manners’ but we like to maintain a semblance of decorum.”

“In the kitchen!” Settimo tutted. “My dear Ottaviotto, you are the sort of person they have peasant revolts about. It is the fashion these days to seat the servants at the table, or hadn’t you heard? _Liberté, égalité, fraternité, mon frère._ ”

Leporello stifled a laugh behind him. Ottavio shot him a glare.

“In my household,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster, “my wife, my children, and my servants know their places.”

Anna, not meeting his eyes, said, “I believe this is Settimo’s household now, to speak plainly.”

Ottavio reddened. “I am the head of this family!” He slammed his palm on the table. Grazia jumped and started whimpering. Elvira went to comfort her.

Settimo gave his brother a self-satisfied smirk. “In my house,” he said, “everyone eats at the same table.” He turned to the servants. “Come, my friends! Sit down, eat!”

Leporello and Elizabeth looked at each other, neither willing to be the first to move.

Anna smiled encouragingly at them. “You are most welcome.”

Ottavio opened his mouth to contradict her, but a pointed look from Elvira silenced him. He slumped back in his chair as Leporello and Elizabeth sheepishly took seats on either side of Settimo.

Elvira patted Grazia’s head and returned to her own place. Maria busied herself with her pasta. Viviana stared in open-mouthed wonder as Settimo poured wine for the servants.

“There, now,” he said. “That wasn’t so painful, was it?”

Ottavio, glowering, said nothing.

Settimo looked around the dining room and wrinkled his nose. “This place will need a lot of repairs. Don’t you have anything you could hang on the walls, to make it feel less like a tomb?”

Anna brightened. “I have some paintings from my school days. They’re not terribly good.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, my dear woman. You must show them to me. I have a few portraits of some friends of mine I could hang up as well.”

“These friends _were_ wearing clothes when they were painted, were they not?” Ottavio asked pointedly.

“Painting the male nude is a long-held artistic tradition,” Settimo said. “I have a lovely one depicting my good friend Karl as Apollo. It’s all very educational.”

“I won’t have a bunch of naked Austrians hanging on my walls,” Ottavio said.

“Of course you won’t. They’ll be on _mine_.”

The two brothers’ eyes shot daggers at each other across the table. Elvira broke the silence, asking Anna, “So, what did you paint in school?”

“Oh, loads of different things,” Anna said quickly. “But I had a great love of landscapes. They’re surprisingly difficult to do well, especially with the changing light.”

“Amazing! I can’t even draw,” Elvira said, laughing. “I was always better at music. Particularly the guitar.”

“How charming!” Settimo finished the last of his wine and poured himself another chalice-full. “You’ll have to play us something.”

Elvira demurred. “I don’t have a guitar with me, signore.”

Settimo winked. “God will provide! My men are bringing the rest of my belongings, including my instruments, tomorrow. We shall clear up the grand ballroom, and put on the greatest party this little palace has ever seen!”

Ottavio paled. “Surely you can’t think of bringing your friends out here?”

“And why not? It’s my home, and they’re my friends!”

“This is a small village, Settimo. Your big city friends will only cause trouble.”

“What’s life without trouble?” Settimo finished his second chalice of wine in a gulp. “Dull as all hell, is what. You want a party, don’t you, Graziella?”

Grazia squealed enthusiastically and threw her spoon in the air. Leporello caught it before it was lost under the table. He handed it back to her.

“It is perhaps good to bear in mind, signore,” he said, “that there are only three of us who work here. It may be a bit difficult to organize such a large party.”

Settimo looked appalled. “My dear Leporello, I am not a monster. My staff arrives tomorrow as well, and they shall take care of the preparations. I certainly would not expect you and the girl and the poor aged coachman to do it all yourselves! Think higher of me, I beg of you!”

“And what will this staff eat? Where will they sleep?” Ottavio demanded.

“Why, they’ll eat with us and sleep with us of course!” Settimo laughed coarsely. He got to his feet and raised his chalice. “Another toast! This time, to Liberty! Long live Freedom!”

Leporello bolted up. He backed away from the table, looking at Settimo as if he’d seen a ghost. Then he fled the room.

“What? What did I say?” Settimo asked, still holding his cup aloft.

Ottavio put his head in his hands. “Nothing, nothing. Sit down, Settimo.”

Settimo sat slowly, staring at the doorway. “I was only joking about sleeping with them.”

“I know you were.”

“I hope he didn’t think I was implying--” Settimo broke off into a high-pitched, nervous giggle.

“I assure you, he did not.”

Settimo seemed to lose all his vibrancy at once. “I think I’m going to go to bed. It’s been a long day of travelling.”

“That would be a very good idea.” Ottavio looked triumphant. “Elizabeth, clear this up, please.”

Elizabeth nodded. Elvira rose and began to help her.

After the dishes were cleared away and washed, Elvira went to see that the children were in bed. Passing their door, she saw Maria reading from a storybook to her sisters.

“‘Take some of my scales,’ said the dolphin-husband, and Tittone put the scales in his bag….” Maria looked up when she saw Elvira. “Oh, good evening, Signorina Elvira. We were just reading a little before bed.”

“It is almost eleven,” Elvira said. “You should be asleep.”

“Graziella is,” Viviana said. Grazia was curled up in a little ball on the ground. Elvira sighed and went in the room. She picked up the little girl and set her down in her bed. She pulled the blankets up around her.

“You both should get in bed as well,” Elvira said. “Go on.”

Viviana and Maria grudgingly obeyed. They said good night, and Elvira blew out the candle.

She shut their door and continued down the hall, towards the room she was staying in. It was a bitter night, and these stone walls harbored cold alongside the mice and rats. She shivered.

Rounding the corner, she ran headlong into someone. She hastily apologized.“Oh! I’m so sorry, Leporello!”

He picked himself up. “No, no, Donna Elvira--”

“It’s just Elvira, please. I’m a governess, not a lady.”

He laughed a little. Then he shifted his weight uneasily. “I… I’m sure I made things awkward at dinner. It’s just-- God, he’s so much like _him_.”

“He felt terrible about it,” Elvira said.

Leporello’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, that’s so much worse. I didn’t want to upset him.”

“It’s hardly your fault. Perhaps, if you talk with him….”

“What would I say? It’s not exactly a very believable story.”

“I believe you. Donna Anna and Don Ottavio believe you.” Elvira put her hand on his shoulder. “I saw the statue. We all saw the wreckage.”

“It’s not only that. It’s the whole thing… everything I did. Years of my life… why did I stay?” He shook his head, shuddering.

Years. Elvira had known the late Don Giovanni for only a week, and he had driven her to the edge of herself. She couldn’t keep herself from crawling after him wherever he went, from forgiving his every trespass, from loving him with all her soul. From wanting to be his mother, daughter, lover-- all in one. She felt her grip on Leporello’s shoulder tighten.

“You loved him, didn’t you?” She used the level, matter-of-fact voice she used to teach catechism, but her heart pounded in her chest.

Leporello swallowed. He nodded, looking at the ground.

“Did he…?”

“No. Not once.” Leporello met her eyes briefly and looked away again. “He knew, though.”

Elvira loosed her hold of him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I was not someone I enjoyed being, when I was with him.” He tugged at the end of his braid. “When… when he met you, I….” He trailed off.

“You what?”

“We just _left_ you. We left them all, of course, but you were different. I was afraid for you. I… I left my money behind. So you’d have something.”

Elvira stepped back. “That was you?”

“It was a cowardly thing to do,” he said bitterly. “I should have warned you about him. I should have stopped him.”

Elvira took his hands. “It was a very good thing to do. It was a kind thing to do.”

“But--”

“Stop that. You’re a good man, Leporello. We both deserved a lot better than we got out of life. But here we are. We must hold on to our own.” She squeezed his hands, and continued down the hall.

But Elvira did not go to her own room that night. She knocked on Anna’s door.

Anna opened it, and blinked at the darkness. “Elvira? What time is it?”

“Late. We need to talk.” She took a deep breath.

She would hold on to her own.


	6. the (second) abandonment of donn' elvira

Hello, to any readers this might have! It's been a while. Unfortunately, this story is likely to be perpetually incomplete. Between my awkwardness at writing romance, and my increasing anxiety about historical and linguistic accuracy (I should've done at least several months of research before beginning...), it became very difficult for me to work out exactly what I wanted to do with it!

I do still love Elvira as a character, and I will likely return to her again in one form or another, but only once I am truly able to do her justice. 

I sincerely apologize to anyone I have disappointed with my lack of consistency. I don't know if I'm cut out for writing fan fiction, but if if that's in the cards, rest assured I'll wait to publish here until after the thing is finished! 


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